After the Ritual
by Alexithymian
Summary: It was her idea, right? Now they've been through this, they can be together for the rest of their lives. But why is it awkward? Why does it hurt? And more importantly, why is she the one who's acting like the victim?


**A/N:** This is dedicated for the fangirls whose hearts broke a little to keep Alistair alive. Thank you, Dragon Age, for fueling my creative spirit, and keeping me up at odd hours in the night. D8

* * *

She knows when it is done, when it is all over, by hearing the footsteps of a deeply troubled someone ringing outside her door. She chooses to ignore this, chooses to concentrate instead on the quill moving over the parchment, the black lines filling the white expanse, the scratches and the lines that distract her from the crisscrossing thoughts running haywire in her mind.

He is still there. She hears the click as the door unlatches, the gentle thud as the door is closed, and he is closed in with her, her and this all-consuming air of awkwardness that divides them.

She doesn't want to look up at him, but she does, because she is attracted to him. His very presence pulls her consciousness towards his amber eyes, his sparkling personality, and suddenly all she wants to do is feel the touch of his cheek beneath her fingertips.

But she doesn't move.

Alistair's hair is wet, his skin is still damp and his neck is slightly red, the evidence of a good, hard scrubbing, perhaps? He couldn't look more handsome, dressed in his soft, tailored blue and red tunic and the dark brown brais. All of him is there, she allows her eyes to trail down his lovable nose, trace the strong lines of his jaw, his now clean-shaven features and lastly, meekly, she looks into his eyes. The King of Ferelden stands before she, the very girl who convinced him to undertake the ritual. It is by her hand that the once easy words on their lips have faded, replaced by these looks of hurt and uncertainty riding between the snatches of movement aimed at each other.

He is braver than her, because it is him that sits beside her on the bed, his weight that creates a dent in the bed that causes her to slide closer to him, and in reaction she attempts moves away, to regain the safety she felt from the lack of bodily contact.

But he is quick. A warrior's reactions are fast, and he snatches her hand and pulls her back towards him. He caresses her hands like it is their firstborn, and she wonders idly if he is comparing them to the other lady of the night. Stealing a glance at him, she sees his face and it is like a hammer blow, the pain etching his features resound in her own thoughts and she chokes back a sob, she does not know why she feels so angry when it means that Alistair can be beside her forever.

"So… Reaction, huh?" Trust him to draw on the jokes, "If this is what happens when **you** tell **me** to do it, I'd be in two pieces in a bloody heap on the floor if I really cheated. I'm glad you take this relationship seriously."

She doesn't respond. She cannot respond for she is struggling within herself to articulate the thoughts assaulting her mind. She is being selfish, selfish and possessive, unreasonable and confusing, blaming him for the decision she was forced to make. She knows exactly how hard this was on him, this cruel joke, using the ultimate act of love with the one woman he openly hated to continue this life the two of them had vowed to share.

"Aerin?" Her name is distressed, and when she is yet again unresponsive, he stands up suddenly, stands in front of her and when she does look through her tears, he is frowning, he is angry, and he is yelling at her.

"Maybe you can stop to think that this was **your **idea! Maybe you could also think about that it is thevery **fact** that I feel so terrible about what just… Transpired, is because… Because." The storm cloud eases, he passes a hand over his face, his shouts trailing off into the reason, "Because I love you. Aerin, I love you. I will always love only you."

He is owed an answer. No matter how dully her heart aches, this overreaction of hers needs to stop, he has laid his soul bare and it is her turn. She licks her dry lips, and speaks.

"It's just. I can't pretend it didn't happen, yet I can't pretend to smile and dance around merrily for you. I'm sorry, Alistair. I asked you to do this, knowing very well how you… Feel, yet, when you come back to me, I act as the victim." She holds his gaze, she sees the word she has chosen smooths out his frown like balm, and she stands, and goes to him herself.

He rests his hands on her hips, almost possessively, almost as if he wishes to hold her there because he doesn't trust her, but when she looks in his eyes, the veil has lifted slightly, and she can see his adoration shining through the brown. Alistair has always been so beautiful, honourable, and in this moment, so completely open to her. She cannot resist touching her lips to his, not moving, feeling the answering press and they both stay like that for awhile, reacquainting themselves, readjusting from this sudden intrusion in their fairytale relationship.

"So let's just say this is the price we pay for staying together, right?" There is almost a desperate emphasis on the 'staying together' part, and when he touches the side of her cheek to make sure she's listening, she understands what he's asking and she half laughs, half sobs in reply.

"You're not getting away that easily." She whispers as he winds her in his arms, he embraces her like she is a rose flower, tenderly to adjust for the thorns yet lovingly, to cradle her head against his own. Alistair is unbridled power, she can feel it in the tightly corded muscles of his arms, and in the pure silk and best-woven cotton of the clothing of his station, yet he is familiar, warm, here, and all hers, all over again.

"I'm just going to have to take your word for it, because I'm definitely not going to try." He breathes in return, and when they kiss again it is slow and searching, it is unsure like their first in the secluded corner of camp, and in some distant, crazy corner of her mind, she wonders if this is really a bad thing because this has reset their dependence on each other, this has proved and painfully reaffirmed her all consuming love for Alistair. He strokes and caresses her hair, he breathes her scent in like she is a drug, and he constantly pulls back to look at her, as if he wants to make sure she is really physically there.

When they finish kissing like teenagers, when he stops with his _sorry_'s, and she with her _don't say that_'s, it is time for sleep, though not the kind that is fresh in their minds, no, not that tonight. He pulls back the covers for her to climb in, plants a kiss on her forehead and proceeds to his own side. The emotions and the waiting have taken their toll on her body, and the last thing she thinks before she drifts off, is how wonderful it is to know that this isn't the last time to fall asleep in your lover's arms.


End file.
